


Message In A Bottle

by ktbl



Category: Mortal Kombat (Video Games)
Genre: Adulting, Drinking to Cope, Emotional Baggage, Established Relationship, F/M, Fade to Black, Late Night Conversations, The Author Regrets Nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27558553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl/pseuds/ktbl
Summary: One bad call on a mission sends Sonya looking for answers at the bottom of a bottle, and Kenshi gives her answers she doesn't want to hear.
Relationships: Sonya Blade/Takahashi Kenshi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 8





	Message In A Bottle

It said something that Sonya didn’t know Kenshi was in her house until he slid into the chair across from her at her dining room table. Fuck if she knew what it was, though.

“You’ve been drinking on your own.” 

His low, smooth voice dragged her up out of her reverie. She pinched the bridge of her nose and looked up through her lashes. He was still in his full armor, which meant he’d come here first - or he’d come back to the base and tried to find her and tracked her down back home. He hadn’t stopped home to dress down to civvies, at any rate. It was a marked contrast to her, determinedly working her way through a bottle of whiskey in threadbare shorts and a tank top. 

“Not the entire time.” She watched his face, the way he seemed to be sizing her up, evaluating her against some standard, despite the blindfold and lack of eye contact. Somehow she felt like she was coming up short. “Just the last half hour or so, since I got home.” She leaned back in her chair, looking down into her glass as her fingers skimmed the rim. “Might have something to do with the fact that I just got most of my squad killed on a mission. Get too close to me and who knows what’s going to rub off.”

Well-lubricated by alcohol she might be, but she still saw the wince cross Kenshi’s usually guarded face. He didn’t offer any platitudes; she could have kissed him for it. Instead, she topped off her glass with another couple of fingers of amber liquid. One of his hands reached out lightning-quick and pulled the glass towards him before she could bring it to her lips. She felt her mouth tug into a frown and planted her hands on the table. Without a word, she levered herself up, walked to her kitchen, collected a second glass, walked back to the table and poured herself another drink. 

“What happened?” He took a drink from her glass - his, now - and winced again, this time at the burn of the alcohol. She smiled smugly. If he was going to take her drink, he could damn well deal with the consequences. He tilted his head and watched her, pulling his gloves off and setting them on the table. 

“Mission went to shit.” She took a long drink from her new glass, relishing the sharp taste in her mouth and the heat down her throat that warmed her belly. “You can probably figure it out. We raided an outpost that was believed to have Black Dragon ties - and I was right,” she added, flicking her braid back over her shoulder and sitting straighter. “Found a bunch of crates with their logo. And them. Place was a fucking mess. Except we also didn’t expect to be caught in the middle of Black Dragon and the local gang having a shootout. It went…” 

She inhaled, memory supplying the acrid tang of gunpowder and metallic reek of blood instead of the smell of her house. The silence of the room was replaced with the yells of thugs and shouts of soldiers, the sounds of gunshots, of bodies and bullets hitting the corrugated metal walls of the hideout. She buried her nose in her glass, inhaling the sharp smell of her cheap alcohol instead of the blood and meat her mind wanted to overlay.

“Badly,” she finished, taking another drink from her glass. “We won, as much as you can ever win something like that. We got the shipments, the shit that the Black Dragon was selling - lasers and crates of micro-mines and I don’t even fucking know. But not without racking up more men coming home in body bags than should have. Not without me fucking up.”

Kenshi didn’t speak right away, leaning forward. One of his hands reached for her, thumb grazing the back of her knuckles. “Why do you say it’s your fault?” 

“Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. It’s the Black Dragon, Kenshi.” She snorted, knocking back more of her drink. “And I’m CO. Whatever happens is always my fault, because I take responsibility for my soldiers. But the really fucking obvious aside, I made a series of bad calls. Let someone take the initiative because I thought we were handling something textbook. We were, except it was so fucking textbook that all I saw was Black Dragon and didn’t think about why it was such a cakewalk. They started shooting at us and I stormed the gates like I always do, because it’s _mine_ and if I can get Kano, or any of his cronies - Tasia, Jarek, Kira - I will. Who knows.

“So we went in and had everything covered, except they came pouring down out of stairwells we hadn’t seen in the plans or the recon. It was just like they’d planned it, and sure as shit they had. It was like shooting fish in a barrel until we got covering fire and under cover and started taking them out. Because SF is still SF, and we’re good at what we do. But kids went home in body bags, Kenshi, and they shouldn’t have.” She looked at the two fingers of amber in her glass and drained it dry. The fuzzy feeling she was after refused to come, no matter how much she drank. 

“You could have called me in when you went for this.” His voice held a hint of accusation, but his expression was carefully bland. His fingertips brushed down the back of her hand to the wrist, trailing heat across her skin. 

“You were doing your whatever-it-is you do with Sub-Zero when you two get all buddy-buddy and pissy about the Red Dragon. This was my problem, not yours. You were taking vacation days, and I respect that you weren’t here.” Even though she didn’t - there was work to do, someone needed to be on alert. It was her. Always her. “I’m Special Forces, not you, and I had a job. I didn’t need a consultant. I knew what was going on.” She reached for the bottle again and Kenshi’s hand closed around her wrist. His grasp was tight, holding her hand in place. The affectionate contact was gone, replaced with sheer determination. She tried to pull her arm free, failing as he brought his greater strength to bear. “Fuck off, Takahashi.” 

“Missed arm day, did you?” 

She snarled a response, and she saw the little tug of a smile on his lips. She lashed out with one foot towards his shin, but he was quicker. He hooked her foot with his own. She tugged in a futile attempt to get free, anger knotting in her stomach.

“Sonya, I got on base and went to check in with you. They told me you’d just returned from a mission and it hadn’t gone well and no one was entirely sure where you were. That you’d been drinking in one of the bars with some other soldiers, and then they assumed you went home. I checked. I had no word from you, nothing.” She could see the worry lines creasing his forehead, and closed her eyes. She didn’t need more guilt digging its claws into her.

“You’re my friend. We’re not married, you’re not my CO. I’m not accountable to you.” Her voice was acid-sour to her own ears, the words burning on her tongue. She washed them down with more whiskey.

“You are accountable to me on the grounds of our friendship if nothing else,” he countered, frown tugging at his mouth again. “No matter the loss, you don’t usually take it hard enough for… this.” He plucked the bottle up and moved it out of her reach, and she glared daggers at him. He tipped a small amount further into her glass, barely a finger. He set the bottle out of her reach and freed her hand. She snorted, and swirled the liquor in her glass, watching it slosh. He unhooked his leg from hers, and she kicked him. “You’re a mean drunk, Sonya. Or sentimental. I can’t quite tell which.”

“Meaner than usual?” She made a scoffing sound, and her hand snaked out for the bottle, pouring another finger in before drinking down the glass and almost slamming it on the table. “I don’t take losing people well.”

“You are usually more controlled about it. How many times have we gone after someone, run an operation together? I’ve rarely seen you resort to this.” He tapped the bottle with his hand. 

He knew her too damn well, and he had no compunctions about calling her out. “They were kids, Kenshi. Fuck, they were _kids_. Barely older than Cass and Jacqui. Bringing Cass and Jacqui home in body bags. What kind of mother am I, to know my kid is going to be at that level of risk?” The words dragged back up the feelings she’d been trying to push down. How she’d manage sending Cassie on an operation, how easy it had been to think of it being Cassie back in a body bag. No matter how well-trained she was, everybody made bad calls. Cassie had the cocky Cage attitude that meant she’d be more prone to flashy showmanship - and the associated questionable decisions. She could refuse to allow Cassie into her unit, but the likelihood of that working was slim.

“Both your daughter and your goddaughter have been raised to this. Between you, and Johnny, and Jax - and their own determination… They will be fine. And Jacqui hasn’t even been sniffing around Special Forces.” Kenshi ran a hand through his hair. “You’re feeling guilty.”

“Of course I am, damn it! I should have seen this. I should have figured it out, I should have realized it the moment it was all too goddamned easy, too textbook. Shoulda let someone else take point on this. They were _ready_ for us, but I was just watching it, letting them run it. Gotta get the next generation learning.”

“I shouldn’t have let Shang Tsung lead me into the house of my ancestors, and I shouldn’t have touched Sento, shouldn’t have gone blind. I have learned from my mistakes, Sonya. I still make them, but I have learned.” Kenshi interrupted. He reached up and unfastened his blindfold, tugging off the fabric and letting it pool on the table. “I shouldn’t have agreed to infiltrate the Red Dragon, shouldn’t have left Suchin, shouldn’t have left Takeda with Hanzo. But here we are. And every choice I made, I have lived with the consequences. Some of them are difficult.” 

She couldn’t look away from his eyes; blind he may be, but the white-on-white was still compelling. She swore there was warmth and concern in them. But that might be the alcohol finally kicking in. 

“Yeah, well, I got you-“

“You got me _nothing_.” His voice was sharp, cutting through her words as precisely as when he wielded Sento. “I made those decisions. I said I would do those things for you, and I did, and I knew the risks. And I wouldn’t unmake them if I could.” 

“Even if I could get you Suchin back? Just snap my fingers, poof! she’s back?”

“Are we now, or are we rewinding time?”

“Right now. Just snap,” and Sonya did, “and here she is.” 

“No.”

“The fuck do you mean?” She stared at him, unable to comprehend. He hadn’t even thought about it, the single syllable dropping from his lips almost instantly.

“Twenty years ago, you and Johnny were inseparable. We all worked together, fought together, and if there had been space for a third person…” He trailed off, gesturing gracefully with a hand, a gesture she couldn’t read. “But there was no space for anyone to breathe around you two, you fit together too well. I was envious. I wanted to have that with someone. I found it, with Suchin - but then you called. I answered willingly, because it was a challenge I couldn’t turn down.”

“I got Takeda’s mother-“

“No. I did. My. Choice.” Kenshi’s voice was firm, and his sightless eyes met her seeing ones. She was pinned by his gaze, as if he was seeing far too much, far more than he should, but none of it with telepathy. “I chose challenge over my lover. I found something good with Suchin, but I have found something good with you, too. Suchin did not deserve what happened to her, and if I had not left her, my life would be very different now. But I am happy with this. The balance we have and the time we make for each other. You do not get to claim all the blame for everything, Sonya. You cannot be so selfish.”

“But if I hadn’t-“

“If you hadn’t, if you hadn’t, if you hadn’t. I am the one that got involved with you and Johnny and Fujin and the Netherrealm War in the first place. I have a choice, Sonya. You demean me by saying my choice means nothing. I have chosen this, and I will stand here and choose you again and again, no matter how hard or easy the alternative may be. Even if I think I’d like to drop you in a cold shower right now until you see sense.” 

She glared at him, tongue too thick and heavy to find a good retort, settling on her time-honored “Shut up.” Good for lovers and ex-husbands alike. 

Kenshi dipped his chin with a half-grin and walked into her kitchen, pulling out two glasses and filling them both with water. He brought one back to her, settling it on the table.

“Drink. I don’t want to deal with you and your hangover in the morning.”

“I don’t get hangovers,” she hissed. “And who says you’ll even be here in the morning?”

“Because you don’t drink this much.” His fingers found the bottle neck and pulled it out of her reach again, and he nudged the water towards her. “You’re out of sorts.”

“Get out of my goddamned house.” 

“It’s not yours, it’s the government’s. And you gave me a key. And you have drunk enough that right now, someone needs to make sure that you don’t end up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning.” He frowned slightly, fingers searching for something on the table. A faint blue glow rose around his fingertips. The bottle cap floated up into his grasp, and the blue energy faded. “As my friend, I’m not leaving you angry and drunk on your own. You have subordinates who are concerned. You had a mission that went badly. You made a bad call. And at this point, you’re far enough in this bottle that I can tell you’re likely to make another one.” She watched as Kenshi screwed the cap onto her whiskey, and walked it back into the kitchen. 

She downed the last of his own glass behind his back, feeling juvenile and spiteful and just too damn tired to care. Then she downed the water. Kenshi returned to the table and leaned against it. 

“Those soldiers made their choices, Sonya. They chose to serve in the military, and went through a process to join the Special Forces. You gave them the chance to lead and I am sure you did everything you could. Would you have succeeded if you had done this alone? Would you have succeeded without them?” 

She could feel her teeth grinding against each other, the mulish set of her jaw and the heat of anger coursing through her body. He knew her too fucking well, every damn button to push. He arched a dark brow, and continued. 

“You would not have succeeded without them. Do not take their contributions away from them by taking it all on yourself. They share in your success. They chose this, knowing the consequences. Honor their choice, and their sacrifice, and learn from your mistake.” 

She folded her arms up and rested her head on them, pointedly ignoring his interference. He could just talk to the back of her head, the arrogant pain in her ass.

And that was the last thought she had as the fuzziness finally wrapped her brain up, and consciousness drifted away.

God, her head hurt. 

She tasted regret and cottonmouth and she didn’t even want to guess what else, and made a beeline for the bathroom. Sonya scooped water into her mouth from the faucet, trying to clear out the awful taste of too much whiskey and not enough good sense. She fumbled in the medicine cabinet for a pair of painkillers, swallowing them down dry, and stared at herself in the mirror.

“You,” she told her reflection, “are a fucking idiot.”

“Stop talking about my partner that way.” Kenshi’s voice carried into the bathroom, groggy and amused. “Even if it’s true.”

“I hate you more than a little right now.” She groped for her toothbrush and scrubbed at her mouth, minty toothpaste working its way through the dry, thick feelings in her mouth. A few minutes later she walked back out, dropping into the bed again and burying her face in her pillow. Kenshi was still for a few minutes and she thought about going back to sleep. Then she felt his hand over her back, trailing it over the curve of her spine and the muscles of her shoulders. “I was an ass last night.”

“You were,” he agreed, pulling her against him. He didn’t bother opening his eyes, just slid one arm beneath her and rolled her into his body. He was warm, and she snaked her fingers up under the hem of his shirt, spreading her hands out to leach more heat from him. He hissed at the cold touch and pressed his lips to the soft skin where her shoulder joined her neck. “Are you feeling any better?”

“Worse, mostly.” 

“You’d feel even worse if I had left you at the table. I considered it.” He pressed his lips against her forehead. “But then there would truly have been no living with you this morning.” The hand on her back kept up its brushing, tracing circles around the base of her neck. “And as bitter as you were last night, I decided I would much rather have you wake up sour and hungover in your bed.” 

“So you hauled my ass up the stairs.”

“You snore when you’re sleeping drunk.” He kissed her temple, lips warm and delicately brushing against her skin. “It’s very cute.”

“I do not snore. Not when I’m sober or drunk.” Being indignant hurt, much like the throbbing headache that wasn’t receding. She tugged a hand away from his back and ran her fingers through the dark bristle of his beard, her thumb skimming down the side of his face. “And don’t you _dare_ call me cute. I call bullshit.”

“The next time you decide to get drunk I’ll make sure to record it,” he assured her, tipping his head into her touch. “For blackmail purposes, if nothing else.”

“There are days I wish you were actually in my chain of command, because then I could assign you to latrine duty.” She tangled her legs with his, tucking her head down beneath his chin, and felt his other hand settle high on her thigh, fingertips skimming over her leg. 

“As if dealing with you isn’t punishment enough? I guarantee if I asked your soldiers, they would choose latrines over Colonel Blade in the morning.”

“So you’d prefer latrines over this?” Her hand still on his back slid downwards, pushing down along his skin, working its way past his waistband to spread out over the muscle of his ass. He made a half-choked noise, eyes opening by reflex.

“I didn’t say I did. Particularly _that_.” He caught a hand in her hair at the back of her neck, tilting her head up towards him. “Being out of your technical chain of command has some benefits. And one of them is a hangover cure that I am uniquely positioned to offer.”

“Some weird Japanese breakfast of raw eggs and seaweed and who knows what else?”

He laughed softly, breath tickling her face. “You overthink things. No, what I intend is good for blood flow and assured to put you in a better mood.” He brushed kisses across her eyelids, her jaw, working his way slowly to her lips. She opened her mouth to speak, but he covered her mouth with his and kissed her before she could say a word. She moaned softly against him, deepening the kiss and feeling his heartbeat pounding against his chest.

“I think I got the idea now,” she murmured as he rolled her onto her back with careful hands. He kissed her again, and didn’t stop until they both sagged against each other, panting and satisfied, some time later. She curled her arms around him, holding him against her body and feeling the last trembles of his muscles as he came back to himself. 

“How’s the headache?”

“You’re the telepath, you tell me.” She ran a hand through his hair, thoroughly mussing it up and earning a vaguely annoyed expression from him. 

“As if I would dare to brush your mind after that. You’re in a better mood, at least.” Kenshi moved off of her slowly, dropping onto his back beside her. Reluctant to lose the contact, she pillowed her head on his chest, and he curled an arm around her. His fingertips danced over the curve of her shoulder, skimming down her arm and back up. She didn’t know which one of them it was intended to comfort, but from the way his breathing began to slow, he seemed inclined to drift right back off to sleep again. 

She should get up. There were letters to write, there were calls to make, and maybe she’d feel better after a little exercise, or at the very least a good long hot shower. There were a dozen things she ought to do.

But maybe this time, she’d choose to stay in bed.

Just a little longer.


End file.
